Finally
by Darylsgirl
Summary: Thoughts after the deed is done. First attempt - let me know if you would like more :)


He lay there watching the breaths of the woman lying next to him come and go. Moonlight filtered through he worn material of the tent they inhabited, creating an ethereal diffused light.

Why she was here voluntarily was beyond him – he wasn't sure whether he was, in fact, blind drunk and dreaming. He half expected to feel Merle's boot in his side at any moment, bringing him round in some dead end place ready to start another dead end day doing whatever the hell Merle thought was a good idea this time.

But the boot never came, instead, the woman beside him continued to slumber under his intense gaze.

The emotions swirling through him were out of his conscious control and had been ever since she had first opened her mouth that first day he had met her in Atlanta on the flight out of the city. Amidst the chaos and terror he had been hypnotised by the familiar yet alien cadence of her speech, bearing, personality, Christ, everything about her.

He'd been careful to feign distaste for her, terrified that his brother would cotton on to his attraction and humiliate him for it. No, he'd maintained his distance from all of them, especially her in those early days with the group.

It hadn't stopped him from watching and listening for her however. He had found himself coming up with excuses to be around camp more – arrows to be made, game to dress, knives to sharpen. Like a stray cat edging towards a warm fire, he caught himself edging closer to camp activities that included her. He always maintained his distance though, careful never to let his guard down even to himself.

Merle had remained blissfully ignorant of his interest then, but Daryl knew his brother would pick up on his behaviour sooner or later. Damned girl – he just couldn't help himself.

The way she pronounced his name with the emphasis on the "a" in that high class British accent that made his stomach flip in response, her big brown eyes that were so dark they looked black, the way she was so different to the other women– others in camp thought her aloof and cold, but Daryl caught a different vibe from her. Sure she was reserved, but out of all of the other "ladies" present, she hadn't seemed to look down on him, or Merle for that matter, initiating conversation and generally being sociable towards them which, he had to admit wasn't the easiest of tasks.

He rolled over in the soft folds of the blanket they shared and ran his fingers over her naked shoulder along the curve of her back, expecting, no, waiting for her to recoil. Still, she slept on, peaceful against his side.

After everything they had all experienced, the battles fought, lives lost, the running and uncertainty, could they make it together? Was she even serious? Why the fuck was she here with him now? Shane had made a snide comment about the "Lady and the Tramp" all those months (years?) ago at the farm as he saw their bond deepening. Was she only here with him now because she had nothing better and he was a convenient bodyguard? Was that all he had ever been?

He could only imagine what his brother would have to say. Years of being told he was good for nothing had left their mark, as had Shane's overheard comment. It had been part of the reason he had backed away from the group and her for a while then at Herschel's farm. She hadn't let him retreat for long though and he had been angry and relieved that she would even care that he was distancing himself, let alone come looking for him.

Doubt had plagued him then, and continued to do so now they had finally cemented their relationship. He continued to study her as his mind ran on. Sleeping, she looked younger, the challenging grin temporarily wiped from her face. He inched closer, keen to feel her soft skin against him again as he had felt it consume him barely an hour ago.

Since that night at the CDC when they had found themselves the only two still drinking at midnight, and they had shared the remains of the Southern Comfort when he had finally allowed himself to actually speak to her instead of remaining distant or finding an escape route, they had embarked on an easy, awkward, tense, relaxed friendship that had surprised him. It had taken up till now for either of them to make a move, that thanks once again to a scavenged bottle of Southern Comfort, neither one until tonight daring to cross the boundary of friendship, despite increasing hints from the larger group.

He found her company to be strangely addictive. That summer at Herschel's had seen them draw together inevitably as things got worse. Her insistence on him teaching her to hunt and "do Davy Crockett stuff" had given them the opportunity for respite from the farm and the group dynamics and allowed them to get to spend time with one another without watchful eyes tracking every move.

She had made him begin to feel good about himself against his will – she wanted to learn from _him _not Shane or Rick, but _him_. She had surprised and pleased him with her adaptability and determination to learn from him and it had made him secretly proud. It hadn't stopped him from hating her for it though.

He hated her because she made him want her, hated her because she was so different to him, hated her because she made him feel like he was somebody. He hated her because she gave him hope, hope that she might love him. He smiled grimly to himself – not likely.

They had become an established pair, often disappearing for days, for hunting lessons, or supply runs. They had developed a smooth way of being together, to the point that Rick rarely asked one to do anything without the other in tow. It suited him fine. An unusual pair granted, what with her with her fancy degrees and shit and he with what he stood up in, but it worked.

The increasing intensity between them had become obvious to all but them, until tonight, until he had found himself running his calloused and dirty hands over her smooth, pale body almost in a trance. His skin tingled with the memories of what they had done together in the moonlight and he breathed in the scent of her.

His hands wound themselves around her body and he pulled her to him, unsure but needing the full contact, the full sensation of her right here, right now against him. He resigned himself to knowing that whatever her intentions were, even if she was just keeping time, he would willingly submit to whatever this was.

For the first time since the walker shit started, perhaps in his life, he felt content.


End file.
